Some Things Change
by Foof
Summary: Some things change, and others stay monotonously the same...


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, cheers J.K.  
  
This is my first fic that isn't Draco-centric, so keep that in mind when you're thinking that is sucks.

I wrote this for my friend's birthday because she's an avid Ron/Hermione shipper. This if for you Rach, hope you like it. :D

Harry hardly spoke anymore. Even in the days leading up to the last showdown between him and Voldemort he had been more talkative, almost chipper. He had been on an adrenaline rush for the past year and it seemed now, he was finally coming down. He _had_ come down; he had fallen hard. He never smiled or laughed; his face had taken on a kind of detached personality that wasn't Harry at all. He seemed to be lost in the spell that had shot from the tip of his wand and hit Voldemort directly in the heart, lost in the blindingly green light that had filled the space around him.  
  
You'd think after nearly 7 years of being hunted, watched, of constantly looking over his shoulder, he'd be glad it was all over. But for some reason, unknown to everyone, even his closest friends, he had shut himself off from everyone he'd ever cared for.  
  
He seemed to be consumed by the casualties of war. It was as if he felt responsible for every single person who had ever died at the hands of Voldemort and his followers, like everything was his fault, _his_ fault they died. When in truth he saved a world from a fate worse than death and yet he still doesn't seem to understand why people show him gratitude, doesn't understand the reasons he's placed on a pedestal by most of the Wizarding World.  
  
He didn't want any of it though. He didn't want the fame, he didn't want the responsibility, the fate of the entire Wizarding World rested upon his shoulders and frankly the expectations placed on him from such a young age were almost unbearable. And yet he put up with it all and in the end he won...but at what cost?  
  
Ron and Hermione tried, tried so hard to make him talk, make him do anything and yet every time it seemed like a pointless endeavour that seemed to go round and round in circles.  
  
"We've got to keep trying Ron, he's our best friend." Hermione said one day, months after Voldemort's defeat and looking at Ron's face twist in anguish as Harry blew them off _again_ to go to the Quidditch Pitch. But neither of them could blame him for anything he did. They just wanted their best friend back.  
  
"I know," Ron said, sounding helpless. "It's just hard when you get no response from him. It's kind of like he's devoid of everything that used to be him, you can see him, but inside he just seems empty."  
  
Hermione could have smiled at Ron's philosophical statement if she hadn't been so concerned about Harry. In the past few months Ron had turned very philosophical, it was as if he was forced to because really, it was the only way to look upon Harry's situation and really understand.   
  
She had to commend Ron on the way he as handling it. He was the ever-supportive best friend, the ever-present figure you could fall back on and she had to admire the strength of character he showed. Admiration and adoration were very similar things. She frequently pondered this late at night when books and classes weren't there to distract her. She was at a loss with the situation with Harry. She desperately wanted to help him; she just didn't know how and she felt most avenues had been thoroughly exhausted.   
  
They had tried talking to him, not worrying if it was just them talking _at_ him. They tried coercing him to talk. They had tried numerous ways to cheer him up; even invited the twins for a weekend at Hogwarts. They even tried leaving him alone, and while that didn't change his mood or behaviour, it almost seemed that that's what he wanted. Hermione couldn't help feeling like she was neglecting him every time he'd slouch out of the Great Hall unaccompanied after every meal, if he ever turned up for meals at all.  
  
One thing that did change for the better was the bond between Ron and Hermione seemed to grow in Harry's absence. They spent most of their time together and they had given up squabbling over petty things, it just wasn't worth fighting between themselves when it felt like they had already lost their best friend. They both felt the void Harry had left in them and it seemed only when they were together that the void wasn't as deep.  
  
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Hermione asked Ron one day, months after Voldemort's defeat when she found him sitting out by the lake, staring out at the water. She sat down beside him and stared absently out over the lake, watching the ripples on the surface glinting in the light, wondering why Harry was smothered by this accursed feeling of guilt and why it couldn't be lifted and _why_ their best friend just wouldn't return into their open arms.  
  
"I don't think I'm ever _not_ thinking about him. I was so used to having him by my side, always having him there to talk to, to hang around with, and now..." He trailed off, thinking it pointless to state the obvious. Hermione reached for his pale, lightly freckled hand, taking it in hers in the only comforting gesture she thought she could offer, as she knew words would never suffice.  
  
This was what she lived for nowadays, this closeness with the one person that seemed to be a constant in her life and yet somehow she felt guilty because Harry wasn't there to share it with them. He was off, caught up in his own thoughts and feelings, a thick cloud pulled over him, full of grief and agony so powerful that she doubted anyone else had the ability to understand nor comprehend.   
  
She yearned for the days when they were all together; The Trio always laughing and joking. She had sometimes dismissed Ron and Harry's humour, thinking it immature but now she wanted nothing more than to hear them talking about Snape's big nose, or his greasy hair. In fact, she thought she might laugh for days if just _once_ Harry would lean over in Potions and crack that cheeky smile, his eyes alight with silent laughter after having thrown scrunched up parchment into Malfoy's cauldron.   
  
And yet he doesn't speak in classes unless he's called upon. He doesn't speak at all, anywhere, unless it's absolutely necessary. His schoolwork isn't being neglected, one thing she's grateful for but she wouldn't mind doing his essays and taking extra notes for him if only he would just talk, smile, laugh, _anything_.  
  
She didn't know how Ron coped. Harry and him had been infinitely closer than she had been with Harry. Ron was Harry's best friend, his first ever friend and Ron would walk over hot coals if Harry asked him too. He'd take Avada Kedavra for him, even if it was inevitably cast on Harry minutes later, Ron would jump in the way, just to give Harry those few extra minutes of life.   
  
That's how it was with those two, no ifs and buts; it was just unconditional friendship and trust, that's the way it had to be. When you were best friends with The-Boy-Who-Lived things like that were expected. Not consciously of course. Harry never asked for the kind of potent trust and loyalty Ron gave him, he just got it and neither of them questioned it. It just simply _was_.  
  
Was. It was no longer seen. No longer experienced. It was still there, Hermione never doubted it but she hadn't seen it in such a long time she just wished Harry would pull out his wand and point if firmly into Malfoy's chest so Ron would jump to his side immediately, without a second thought, wand drawn, ready to jump in front of Harry if anything too nasty came out of Malfoy's wand.   
  
Wishful thinking never served one well; she knew this, yet she could hardly stop herself.   
  
"You've still got to write your Charms essay." Hermione told Ron softly one day, months after Voldemort's defeat as they sat in the Common Room, the flames of the fire flickering gently, painting long, drawn-out shadows over the walls.   
  
"I know, I just..." Ron sighed heavily, leaning further back into the couch. "It's not due until next week anyway." He argued feebly. "I'm too distracted to write it tonight." Hermione didn't question why he was distracted, there was no need, it was the same reason he was _always_ distracted. "I just want him back." He said sadly, sinking even further into the couch, letting his head fall to the side to rest on Hermione's shoulder.   
  
Hermione could have argued, told him it's best to get the essay done now, instead of later, always later, but she didn't. She couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to nag him when his best friend seemed to be lost inside himself. And frankly, it was too nice curled up on the couch with him to move, so she didn't.  
  
And then the fire burnt low and the room was steeped in darkness and they both reluctantly retreated to their rooms, knowing what awaited them on the other side of wakefulness was neither wanted nor pleasurable; it was the shell of Harry.  
  
A shell, he looked like Harry but nothing else was the same. That shell of sleek muscles, mussy hair, round glasses and those green eyes that no longer held that glint that was so inherently _Harry_ and that alone was disturbing. Disturbing in a sense that when you looked into them you couldn't find him anywhere, you could search and search for hours, as Ron had so desperately tried, but he wasn't to be found. He had to be in there, just hidden so deep inside of himself that he seemed to have shrunk away from his eyes.   
  
He needed to come back; Hermione knew that with every tiny section of her heart and Merlin how she longed for it. She wanted to see that amazing sparkle in his bright, vivid green eyes. No one had eyes like Harry and she missed them terribly.

She could gaze into Ron's eyes as much as she liked now. He wouldn't question her like he usually would, he wouldn't get self-conscious because she was staring at him, he'd just look back at her occasionally and sometimes a small smile would pull at his lips before he'd look away, going back to whatever he was doing. It was like he knew why she had to look at him, knew it was a comfort to know he was there and that he'd be there for as long as she needed him and in these moments she could almost be happy, _almost_. Then an image of Harry would flash through her mind and her heart would sink to her feet and her stomach knot with frustration and loss and she'd admonish herself for ever feeling so content.  
  
She wasn't content; she knew that. Neither was Ron. And Harry was far from being anything even related to content.   
  
"Do you think there's anything else we can try?" Hermione asked Ron one day, months after Voldemort's defeat in another vein attempt to get Harry back. Ron looked up and shook his head feebly.  
  
"I don't know Hermione. I don't want to say he's a lost cause but we've tried everything, except for grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he snaps out of it." He moved across the empty Common Room to stand beside her as she looked down at her homework on the table.  
  
"I don't think it's going to be that easy." Hermione said, dragging her eyes away from the book she was staring through and loving the feeling of comfort washing over her as she looked into endless depths of blue, wishing she could just lose herself in those perfect eyes.  
  
"It could be." Ron shrugged dismissively. "We've never tried anything that simple. He might just _need_ something that simple." And Hermione nearly threw herself into his arms for that gleam of hope that shone through him, even if he didn't really believe it, she knew it was for her benefit and that didn't bother her at all, she was flattered he tried.  
  
"If it goes on much longer I'm not sure what will happen with him. He can't live the rest of his life like this," Her chest heaved and a sob caught in her throat. "He just can't! And yet I don't know what to do, there isn't anything we can do to fix it. I've even read up on human psychology but none of it helps. Nothing!" Silent tears stained her fair cheeks, her teary eyes searching for deep blue orbs. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was pulled snugly against a warm, solid body.  
  
This was her breaking point, she had not yet lost faith and she had never broken down like this, not in front of Ron, yet, he didn't seem phased by it at all.  
  
"Shh Hermione, we'll think of something. I know we will." He held her close to him, his hand rubbing small circles over her lower back in an attempt to comfort her; it definitely had the desired affect. She manoeuvred herself in his hold so she could gaze up at him.  
  
"That's just it, I don't know if we can." She looked almost defeated and Ron reached up and brushed a stray tear away from her cheek, his eyes locked with hers. It was now that Hermione allowed herself to get lost in his blue eyes. Eyes laced with concern, worry, fear and she knew in that moment that this was who she needed, this was what she had needed for 7 years and she ever so tentatively cupped his cheek with her hand, bringing his face down to hers and placing a soft kiss on his lips.  
  
The portrait hole swung shut with a bang and Ron and Hermione jerked away from each other, Ron's arms still lingering around her waist and they both looked up to find green eyes staring intently at them.   
  
Harry's face was unreadable as he watched them in complete silence, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, ink-black hair nicely mussed. And then something changed in his expression; something they hadn't seen for a very long time and his guarded visage was suddenly gone.  
  
"Well it's about bloody time." He said simply, his eyes somehow flickering wildly as he gazed straight at them. His mouth twitched at the corners, his endless green orbs sparkling before his whole face erupted into a grin, a so typically _Harry_ grin, that Hermione let a sob of relief escape her. Ron's face broke into a mirror image of Harry's so suddenly resurfaced smile and they stare at each other in silent appreciation of Harry's return, each knowing that now he was back, they'd never let him go again.  
  
**End.**


End file.
